


Sucking Face

by Beetlemucus



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Boys Kissing, Henry Bowers Being an Asshole, Henry Just has issues to work out, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Patrick isn’t being as creepy as usual, idk what else to tag this sorry guys, lots of slurs, the setting is ???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 23:20:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beetlemucus/pseuds/Beetlemucus
Summary: Yeah this is just an excuse for me to write about Henry and Patrick kissing





	Sucking Face

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh enjoy this I guess? I’m just trying to expand my writing a little and it’s always hard for me to write situations where Bowers and Hockstetter are being ‘romantic’ so this is the closest you’ll get for awhile

The best feeling to the two boys, in that moment, was nothing else other than the taste of the other seeping through the cracks in the other’s lips as they mashed and sucked faces like it was their last day on Earth. Their chapt lips moved together in an uneven rhythm, but neither of them cared enough to fix it. Boney, long fingers got tangled in dirty blonde hair and shorter, more muscular fingers balled up the front of the other’s shirt as they pulled each other closer.  
It was faggotry at its finest, but penting it up for so long wasn’t healthy, and that is when Patrick had offered for Henry to let off steam on him. Bowers did nothing more than shout refusals, curse, and even punch the taller boy in the face and chest region a few times for even thinking of the god-awful suggestion. Without even flinching, Patrick had taken it and just let Henry crumble into the thoughts of ‘what if?’ that plagued his head with every motion of his hand.

It wasn’t long before Henry had given into the desire begrudgingly. He really didn’t want to do it at all and you couldn’t pay him to do it either, but the only thing that made him even remotely consider it was how Patrick sort of sent shivers up and down his spine like ants playing the piano. His mind tried deciding if these shivers were pleasant or frightening, and when it wasn’t able to come up with a straight answer he settled on a fine line between both. Maybe, just maybe, he liked the feeling of being frieghtened by something that was risky (something that wouldn’t raise a fist or a belt whenever he refused to make eye contact). He wanted to do it because, hell, it was different and it was something that he could run with. It was something Butch Bowers would never in a million years approve of, and that’s why Henry wanted to just grab Patrick and pull him down. That is exactly what he did.

Teeth were unsheathed from livery lips as they grazed over the top of thinner, more chapt lips. The smaller of the two paused a little, and although the feeling was oddly nice it just threw his reality back at him. Bowers shoved Hockstetter off with a grunt and a quick thumb across his own lips to wipe any excess saliva that dripped from the corner of his mouth.  
“Yer’ lucky I don’t just punch ya’ so hard in the stomach to where yer’ guts fall outta yer’ mouth.” Henry spat at him as he leaned back a little against the bed frame. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of his lips being numbed up by static (they had been kissing for full minutes without pulling away, as they were too caught up in the heat of the moment).  
“I know you Hens, ya’ wouldn’t.” Patrick stated simply as he slouched a little forward to stare Henry in the eye.  
“Unless you’d enjoy suckin’ the blood from my lips.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean, you pansy faggot?” Henry asked with a harsh eye, and it resulted in him almost pushing himself up.   
“You are one sick, twisted bastard, ya’ know that?”  
“Yeah, Iknow.” Patrick shrugged as he spoke, tearing his captivating gaze off of Henry to look away at a wall, “Ya’ tell me all the time.”  
“Yeah, because ya’ fuckin’ deserve to hear it.” Was all that Henry retorted with. After the little dispute it fell into loud silence for a solid three minutes. Henry didn’t want to be the one to speak up first as he figured he’d ‘loose’ if he did, but as he examined Patrick he knew that the other had no intention of piping up anytime soon.  
Henry let out a loud, drawled-out sigh before asking “What? Gonna just sit there?”  
“I was just waitin’ on you to calm down,” Patrick’s gaze returned to Henry as he spoke with lightness, “you calm?”

“What do you mean yer’ waitin’ on me to calm down?” Henry’s nose scrunched up as he was getting pissier by the second, “‘M calm!”  
At this, Patrick’s lips slowly split into that Cheshire grin. Henry only got more annoyed as Patrick slowly scooted his way over to rest beside Henry (who, in turn, made no move to really look at the boy besides give him a harsh side glare). 

The taller didn’t need to speak any word to the smaller as a hand slowly rested on a red-hot cheek. It felt like a burning coal that was cooled down from a recent barbecue (still hot but you wouldn’t burn your hand if you held it). He leaned in and captured the heat with his gasoline-lined lips, which had only fueled the heat more and caused it to grow hotter. Hotter from what, anger? That’s all that Patrick assumed, and although it was nothing but annoyance and anger that fueled Henry at this point he loved playing him like a fiddle.

“You done?” Henry asked with out of character edged softness. So out of character that it almost threw Patrick off of the boy completely. Though, this didn’t happen, and Hockstetter just gave a small hum of what was presumably a ‘no’ as he trailed the small kisses from his cheek to the corner of Henry’s lips.  
Bowers only have a gruff pitched growl in his throat at this, almost as a warning, but he made no move to actually push Patrick off. This made Hockstetter hesitate before he engulfed Henry’s lips in his own much like before. Still, even at this Henry didn’t push him off, but he didn’t quite reciprocate it much like last time.  
Hockstetter didn’t seem to enjoy this fact, but with any interaction where he can get Henry to comply with him kissing him was already more than what he could ever ask for so he ran with it.

Since Patrick was positioned at the side of Henry (Patrick also half laying on his side) and Bowers was half laying on his back with his head merely tilted over to continue the kiss, Patrick didn’t have much room to work with where Henry wouldn’t take the advantage of what they were doing. Whether Patrick expected this in a good or bad light he couldn’t tell, and which one was good and which one was bad he couldn’t tell either.  
He decided to take his chances, however, as Patrick only lived in the present moment and you couldn’t tame what teachers would claim were his Roman hands and Russian fingers. His hands coiled around Henry to where one was resting on his cheek and the other prodded a little at his side to snake up under his shirt.   
Patrick’s hands were cold and clammy; they felt like a corpse’s hands, freshly dead. Henry’s back arched as a reaction to the sudden shiver of coolness, and his hand shot out to grip Patrick’s wrist (to prevent him from going further).

Patrick pulled away from the kiss to give him a questioning grin and giggle combo. All that got was a sneer and a threat to watch his boundaries until the gap was closed again. 

Henry wasn’t gay, being gay was weak and faggots are weak. Henry wasn’t a faggot. Though, Patrick’s lips felt nice when pressed against his own and he wasn’t going to dismiss that it was ‘nice’ but it wasn’t ‘good’. Patrick made Henry want to vomit, and Bowers could even see it happen as they were sucking face. //Patrick is probably into that// was all Henry thought, but he never pulled away. He half blamed it on Patrick’s hair, how long it was and how it made him look like a chick.  
//A god-awful ugly one at that// Henry grunted to himself against Patrick’s cold fish lips, and it wasn’t like Henry was any spring-chicken either.

Henry wasn’t a faggot. No, not in the slightest, and it isn’t like this made him a faggot. At least, that’s what Henry kept telling himself.


End file.
